Doors
by mkgross11
Summary: Following a muggle family around London out of boredom and curiosity, Draco Malfoy soon realizes that their are more pieces to the puzzle than he thinks. Eventual Draco/Hermione romance.


Draco had been hiding in the corridor of the café for several minutes now. He was waiting for the off-chance that the small family would usher their little blond haired boy to the bathroom, but at this point it did not seem as if he was going to happen. Slowly he rose from his awkward kneeling position, only to look up and see the boy's mother right in front of him.

"Oi," she proclaimed.

"Er, hello," muttered Draco as he ruffled his blond locks with his hand and walked past her hurriedly, bumping her slightly on the shoulder as he exited the cramped space.

If it were not for this movement, the woman would not have turned around to examine Draco further as he scurried away from her. She stood at the entrance of the corridor for several moments as Draco pushed through the glass door and into the rainy street outside. Lost in a trance, the woman watched as Draco crossed the street, made a left, and then if by magic, disappeared into the grey abyss of the city. Transfixed and confused, she felt something soft and warm snake roughly around her leg.

Looking down she saw the smile of her three-year old son gazing up at her, bringing her back down to earth. His features were like marble, molded gently into his cherubic white face. His eyes were a shimmering blue, and at times a shimmering grey, his hair blond to match the head of the man she had just run away from her as if she were the plague. His teeth were shining white and perfectly straight. She smiled back at him, reaching down to cradle him in her arms.

"Well, hello there little one," she cooed as he giggled, "Want to come with mummy to the bathroom?"

"Yes, please," he said in that polite tone that always seemed to surprise her.

Setting him down again she grabbed his hand as she escorted him with her to the women's toilet. With other ideas, the boy released himself from his mother, and ran playfully down the length of the hallway.

"Daleth, honey," she said in her motherly tone, "Please come back here."

Ignoring his mother's requests, he ran giggling into the door of the women's loo, pushing it open with a smack of his chubby little hands. He disappeared into the little strip of golden light that emitted from the open door. She watched as it closed quietly, hiding away her little boy.

It's as if she had just watched the same thing twice, first with the man on the street, and now with her own son. Two blond heads had disappeared right in front of her, and for some strange reason she knew this was important. Shaking her head to force some sense into herself, she closed her eyes and took a quick deep breath. Pushing open the door herself, she made a promise to not let these things worry her anymore. Even though her son wasn't biologically hers, little Daleth was still very much her own.

/

Draco's eyes flickered open. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across from his bed and groaned.

"Bloody hell," he said in response to his reflection. His hair was matted to his forehead and his skin looked sallow, his eyes sunk deep into his yellow face. Rubbing his cheeks, he began to sit up, cautious not to move too quickly. Gaining his bearings, Draco pushed himself off of the side of his white bed, standing elevated in front of the mirror.

These days, Draco was almost unrecognizable. The once thin boy had filled out how men usually do. He was tall, almost substantially so, and looked smart for his age. His hangover did nothing for his face, but usually Draco's white skin was bright and healthy. Draco coughed and he could taste his sour breath. Glancing one last time at his reflection, he moved away from the bedroom and down the high-ceiling hallway to his kitchen.

_Firewhiskey_. He rolled his eyes. He was starting to make the same mistakes over and over again.

"I'm insane," he proclaimed, following it with chuckle that could only say, "What else have I to do?"

Reaching towards the bottle on the counter, Draco took an unhesitant swig, only to shake his head in spit it out as soon as he recognized his stupidity. Hurriedly, he began to scramble around his kitchen in desperate search for something. When he came upon it, he began to fill it quickly, reaching into cabinets high and low for bottles. The bag, now full, was dropped into the rubbish bin, clanking loudly as it hit the bottom. Like he always did when it came to this, Draco reached into the bag for one last bottle, _just in case_.

"I've brought you something, mate!" chirped Blaise Zabini, as Draco whipped his head around in shock. Zabini looked sly as ever dressed in all black, and even after a night of drinking, his eyes still looked mischievous and prepared for anything. Holding a small paper bag, Draco realized that Blaise had actually come back and brought him breakfast.

"What time is it?," mumbled Draco as he rubbed his face with his hands.

"Oi Draco, you really aren't doing too well are you?," glaring back at him, Draco responded by shaking his begrudgingly, this only meaning one thing, "no."

"It's past eleven."

"Okay," sighed Draco. This was the second time in the past week that he had felt like Blaise was beginning to mother him and that Draco had actually let him.

"I can't stay for long, I've got to go to work-" began Blaise, but Draco cut him off.

"Please. Please just don't worry about it," The two men sat themselves on the dark colored couch in the sitting room. Draco leaned forward onto the glass of the wood coffee table, his hands leaving clammy prints on his surface.

"You can come, too-".

"I am _not_ going back there," said Draco harshly, his eyes narrowing.

Draco had been working at the ministry for several years after the Dark Lord had fallen. Shamed and confused by the events of the war, Draco had returned to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year quietly and alone. Finishing with high marks, though few honors given his history, Draco was offered a job at the ministry in the Committee of Experimental Charms.

Being only a committee, and not a department, Draco found it easy to keep unobtrusively to himself. He spent three years working with a bright witch named Emma managing and researching charms dealing with broken objects. His experience with fixing the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement made Draco successful in this position. For a time, Draco was genuinely happy.

While working at the ministry, it was important to remain discreet. He always made sure to arrive promptly before the morning rush, and would usually slip away twenty to thirty minutes before the traffic on the way home. Draco's family name was tainted at the ministry, and many wizards and witches still held prejudices against his family's involvement with Lord Voldemort.

He was lucky enough to have the others in the committee warm up to him quickly. Emma especially was able to see the pain that had settled in him from the war. To her, Draco was a clever young man with a troubled past, not a malicious blood-purist out to relive Voldemort's regime.

Emma was several years older than Draco and married to a man named Vincent Vroom who worked as head of the committee. Their relationship wasn't out of the ordinary for the ministry, but their difference in age was notable. She was twenty-five and Vincent had just reached fifty.

"I don't even understand what happened," Blaise, shaking his head in confusion.

"I've told you-"

"No, mate, you haven't."

"Drop it."

"Cut the angst, Draco. I'm getting really fed up with you."

"Then stop joining me for drinks every other night,"

Blaise almost spit out the bit of croissant he was chewing on, "Oh, don't go blaming that on me. You're the one sending that bloody owl over all the time."

Pursing his lips, Draco dropped his head with a sigh. "I'm not going back. I am no longer welcome there," he said tensely.

"Has this got something to do with Vroom?"

Draco threw his hand up into the air, "It's got everything to with him."

"I mean _her_," corrected Blaise, "I heard a rumor that you- you know- took a pass at his wife and he just about lost it on you.

"It wasn't like that," growled Draco, "Em's only a friend and you know that."

"This is rich, mate."

"She's beautiful and I thought- and I thought…"

"You thought what?"

"I thought that maybe for once I'd have a chance of getting something that I actually cared about and not just something that someone else thought I'd ought to have," sneered Draco.

"Prick."

It had been a long time since anyone had called him that and he felt shameful. It was a minute by minute battle for Draco to fight off the urge to slip back into his easy, charming ways. He was spiteful of family and spiteful of his past behavior, so as of late he had been working very hard to change that. But sometimes, when the moment caught him off guard, the Malfoy flame would flicker back into his grey eyes, and he'd say something- or do something- selfish like he'd just done. He wanted Emma as some sort of consolation prize for his 'good behavior', and after _it_ had happened he instantly recognized the repercussions of his actions.

The truth of the matter was that he had legitimately fallen in love with her. He had been in a rough patch for a long time, and Emma's companionship provided him with goodness he really hadn't felt before in his life. To Draco, it was natural to cling on to whatever made him happy. She made him feel _so _good, like it didn't even matter that under his white shirt was a mark that would haunt him endlessly, or that his eyes were the same as a man who devoted his life to evil and prejudice. It didn't even seem to faze Emma that Draco had set out to kill Dumbledore for an entire year. She was his friend for who he was now- or who had been several months ago- and not for the sheepish school-boy he often still saw himself as.

It wasn't as if Draco had kissed her, or touched her arm too often, or even sent her a revealing letter. Draco Malfoy took a married woman to bed for six months without any major guilt.

"I'm sorry," said Blaise quietly, "I shouldn't have said that."

"I'll forgive you if you help me with something."

"I don't think you'll be any good at getting your job back."

"No, no. Not that. This is different," Draco looked at Blaise seriously, as if the whole Emma matter wasn't important anymore.

"So this isn't about Emma?"

"I know I no longer have a place at the ministry, and I can't waste my time on that anymore because, Blaise, I think I've a son."

"Wait, you've got her pregnant?"

"I told you this wasn't about her! And I told you nothing happened," he lied, "There's this boy-this child- he has Muggle parents and I see him at the café and around… _everywhere_."

"Er, okay," Blaise said, shaking his head in confusion, "You said he's got Muggle parents, so how can he be your son?"

"Astoria," Draco said quietly, as his ghost face almost disappeared.


End file.
